


Feelings

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-16
Updated: 2018-10-16
Packaged: 2019-08-02 23:12:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16314470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Elrond slips into his king’s room.





	Feelings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [peasantswhy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/peasantswhy/gifts).



> A/N: Fill for peasantswhy’s “Elrond/Gil-galad for #1 [key, nsfw]” request on [my tumblr prompt list](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/post/179060905990/prompt-list).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Lord of the Rings, The Silmarillion, or any of their contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Sleep comes slower than it used to, now that every day is spent preparing for the war. Gil-galad lies awake in bed, staring at the grey ceiling through the darkness, the starlight just barely showing through his curtains. He needs his rest, of course, and he gets so very little of it, but his mind is too troubled to slip away.

The first creak of the door opening draws his eyes. He watches the pale figure step into his room, quietly closing the door again and sweeping closer. Elrond moves with swift, graceful steps, his thin, translucent night-robe dancing about his slender legs. When he climbs up onto Gil-galad’s bed, Gil-galad can see that he’s barefoot—he must have come straight form his chambers when he, too, should be asleep. 

He smiles down at Gil-galad through a curtain of dark hair. He carefully pushes the blankets back, rolling them down Gil-galad’s body, and then he hikes one leg over Gil-galad’s to straddle his lap. Sitting lightly down atop Gil-galad’s thighs, his slender fingers pluck at the strings of Gil-galad’s trousers. 

Gil-galad murmurs, voice thick with regret, “I should not have given you my key.”

Elrond doesn’t rise to the bait—he never does. For all of his youth, he’s the most even-tempered, patient and mature creature that Gil-galad’s ever known. He makes a more than worthy heir. But that’s a large part of the problem. He lifts his own robes, revealing his trim legs, spread around Gil-galad’s body. Eyes half lidded and on Gil-galad’s waist, he answers, “I am sorry, my king... but I need you.”

He rises, then sinks down, guiding Gil-galad inside with one hand, until Gil-galad can feel his tip pressing into Elrond’s waiting entrance. It’s already wet and stretched—Elrond always comes prepared. He thinks of everything. His eyes close and his lashes flutter, his mouth falling open as he sink down to the base. He lets out a breathy gasp while Gil-galad hisses—the rush of wondrous _heat_ silences all protests. He’d forgotten how _tight_ Elrond is. They never have time to enjoy one another anymore.

They shouldn’t anyway. They _should_ be busy. The world is falling apart around them, but Elrond looks so handsome in the moonlight that it’s hard to deny him anyway. Elrond spreads his hands over Gil-galad’s broader chest and starts to rock forward, his body arching and gently rolling—he rides Gil-galad in such sweet, tender thrusts. Gil-galad wants to lose endless hours in the feeling, but instead he mutters, “This is not wise.”

Elrond doesn’t argue. He rarely ever does. He just leans down, his straight, brown locks draping over Gil-galad’s shoulders as he comes in for a kiss. He presses firmly against Gil-galad’s mouth, chaste but meaningful. Then he rises back to his position, his hips never stopping.

“I will die,” Gil-galad says. It’s blunt enough that Elrond’s hips pause, though the rhythm smoothly resumes a moment after as though it never stopped. Gil-galad prefers to be more eloquent, and he hates to see the sadness that comes behind Elrond’s eyes, but he knows what he must do. “I am on the front lines, and I am a target. I know that this will be the end of me... and you will need to go on, to be strong and look only forward. You will need to find a nice girl to settle down with.”

Elrond answers predictably: “I do not want a nice girl; I want you.”

Gil-galad sighs. Sometimes he wishes Elrond _was_ an insolent little beast, because it would make it easier to part them. But Elrond is beautiful and kind, the most treasured thing that has ever come into Gil-galad’s troubled life. Gil-galad doesn’t have the strength anymore to deny either of their hearts.

He gives in and lifts his hands to Elrond’s hips. He digs into the tender flesh, drinking in Elrond’s pleased gasp and the hard feeling of the well-toned muscles beneath his silken robe. It occurs to Gil-galad, as he looks into Elrond’s dilated eyes, that Elrond may be wiser than Gil-galad gives him credit for. Maybe they _do_ need some light amongst the dark, and this is the only time they have anymore. 

He knows this is dangerous. But he still lets himself spill into Elrond’s pliant body, and he strokes Elrond beneath the fine fabric until Elrond follows after. Then Elrond climbs off him, only to curl at his side, pulling the blankets back up around them both. He thinks of sending Elrond away, but Elrond has the key to both his quarters and his heart, and he knows Elrond will inevitably return. 

So, in this only, Gil-galad surrenders. He threads his fingers through Elrond’s soft hair, pets him and kisses his forehead, and murmurs, “No matter what may come, you must always know that I loved you.”


End file.
